


Script

by ImperialEvolution



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Daniel Jacobi is a child guys, I don't know what I was trying to achieve with this, If You Squint - Freeform, M/M, Overuse Of Parentheses, Post No Complaints, Pre-Relationship, Warren has feelings, but it is what it is, i guess, that fact that this is over 2k words shows how much of a mess i am
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 13:39:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15752823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImperialEvolution/pseuds/ImperialEvolution
Summary: Kepler has a habit of writing scripts for every situation he can think of. Jacobi always seems to defy them.





	Script

Kepler grins, watching Jacobi's child-like innocence bathed in lavender and gold. He's glad that Jacobi proved to be as valuable as he's hoped. That he'd survived the year. (With the turn over rates of most SI-5 agents, that was quite the achievement.)  
  
Jacobi's gaze wavers from the fireworks for a second, and Kepler instantly clears any sign of admiration from his expression, clears any sign that Kepler was doing anything other than watching the show.  
  
"This was nice of you, sir," Jacobi says quietly, too scared to completely tear his gaze from the fireworks.  
  
"It's not a problem, Jacobi." Kepler follows the script, letting the words soften in his mouth. The, "You deserve it," was not the script, but it's out of his mouth before he can stop it.  
  
He hears Jacobi's breath catch. Interesting.  
  
"Well," Jacobi mutters and says nothing for a long while. "I've enjoyed it."  
  
Kepler smiles. _(KEPLER says nothing.)_ Kepler wants to say something, but can't think of anything.  
  
Jacobi leans back against the hood of the car, his fingers splayed, and Kepler is suddenly aware of how close they are to his.  
  
"I have whiskey," Kepler says, looking at him out of the corner of his eye. He watches Jacobi's grin as he says, "Do you want some?"  
  
"Of course, sir."  
  
Kepler pulls out a flask, briefly caught on how the metal catches the ever-shifting light and hands it to his subordinate.  
  
"Thanks."  
  
_(KEPLER turns back to the fireworks as JACOBI drinks.)_  
  
Kepler watches Jacobi drink, watches how his Adam's apple moves as he swallows, watches how his lips wrap around the neck of the flask.  
  
_(KEPLER turns back to the fireworks as JACOBI drinks.)_  
  
He turns back to the fireworks and tries not to think.  
  
"They're beautiful," Kepler murmurs because he has deviated from script far too many times now.  
  
Jacobi hums, bumping Kepler's shoulder with his own and holding out the flask.  
  
_(KEPLER takes the flask.)_  
  
Kepler pauses. Jacobi looks so soft in this slight, red and gold, the shadows falling elegantly over his face, the gold bringing out the green of his eyes.  
  
_(KEPLER takes the flask.)_  
  
If it weren't for the scar on his temple and the fact Kepler had seen Jacobi kill people with his own two eyes, he would never have guessed he was a monster.  
  
_(KEPLER takes the flask)._  
  
Kepler takes the flask, trying to ignore the shiver down his spine as their fingers brush slightly. He takes a deep swig, savouring the burn in his throat.  
  
Kepler shivers slightly, wondering how exactly he got so cold. He stares at the fireworks and tries not to think.  
  
"Sir?"  
  
The note of apprehension in Jacobi's voice makes Kepler turn to him. "Yeah, Jacobi?"  
  
"Why—" here he paused, eyes flickering toward the fireworks—"Why'd you do this?"  
  
Kepler hums, smirking as he thinks back to a New Year's Eve. "It seemed like a better idea than just getting some cake."  
  
There's a pause. "I would've liked cake."  
  
Kepler barks a short laugh. "You're gonna bleed me dry, Jacobi."  
  
"Cake can't be that expensive."  
  
Kepler hums softly. He mentally traces the fastest route to their nearest store.  
  
Jacobi sits silently, his steady breathing lulling Kepler into a sense of security. It's been a long time since he'd done something like this. None of the other SI-5 recruits had been remotely memorable except in their incompetence.  
  
The last firework howls into life and spatters the sky in a golden light. Kepler looks at Jacobi for a few seconds as he comes out of his enraptured stupor, his freckles highlighted by the rapidly fading explosion.  
  
Kepler pushes himself off the hood of the car, holding a hand out to Jacobi. "Come on," he smirks, "let's go get cake."  
  
Jacobi's mildly concerned expression breaks into a smile. He takes Kepler's hand and for a second, the world falters. Kepler pulls Jacobi to his feet and drops his hand, already stalking to the driver's seat.  
  
_(JACOBI enters, immediately putting his feet on the dash.)_  
  
Jacobi flops into the passenger seat, kicking his battered combat boots up on the dashboard, a lazy grin gracing his features.  
  
"I can't believe you're actually getting cake," Jacobi says, quickly moving his feet as Kepler swats at them.  
  
Kepler smirks. "No celebration is complete without cake. I'm not a complete monster."  
  
Jacobi huffs a laugh at that, both fully aware that he is.  
  
He pulls into the parking lot of the supermarket, switching the car off and pausing to glance at Jacobi, dark and elegant in the shadows.  
  
Then he throws open the door, telling Jacobi to hurry up. Kepler shoves his hands in the jacket pockets as Jacobi jogs to catch up, hands balled in the sleeves of his overly large Goddard hoodie, the hood pulled over his head.  
  
The supermarket is starkly lit and altogether too shiny for Kepler's taste. There’s almost no one here, save the two employees on the graveyard shift.

Kepler looks back at Jacobi, who looks like a teenager with his hood up and his hair falling into his eyes.  
  
"Take the hood off, Jacobi," Kepler reprimands with an eye roll.  
  
Jacobi grins, obliging with an air of confidence that Kepler wishes he saw more often.  
  
Kepler must admit that his script didn’t account for how surreal it is to be with Jacobi in a place as mundane as a supermarket. He didn't voice this, of course, instead walking in silence among overexposed isles.  
  
"Sir!" Jacobi says suddenly, and Kepler turns to see him with his face glued to the door of a fridge with an expression of manic glee. "They have ice cream cake!"  
  
Kepler looks at him for a long moment. "No."  
  
"Sir! It's ice cream cake! It tastes like childhood!"  
  
"So, bitter and sad?"  
  
Jacobi snorts. "Okay, maybe our childhoods aren't good examples. But it's ice cream cake!" Jacobi peels away from the glass door as if expecting some kind of reaction.  
  
Kepler leans back on his heels. "No."  
  
"Why not?" Jacobi whined.  
  
"It's not cake! It's an abomination!"  
  
"But siiir," Jacobi pouts, drawing out the i to an absurd degree, "it's our anniversary."  
  
There's a long pause, Jacobi batting his eyelids playfully. Something about this ridiculous man made Kepler's convictions stutter.  
  
He sighs theatrically, grumbling, "Fine," as Jacobi celebrates, yanking the cake from the fridge and practically skipping toward the checkout. Kepler follows, wiping an affectionate smile off his face.  
  
He pays for the cake as Jacobi buzzes next to him, his eyes glued on his cake.  
  
"You are a child," Kepler remarks as they leave, bumping Jacobi's shoulder.  
  
Jacobi laughs, "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Whatever you say, Kepler."  
  
They get back into the car, the cake resting in the backseat as Kepler drives. "Jacobi, did I ever tell you about the Smithsonian Heist?"  
  
Jacobi flicks his gaze from the window to him, eyebrow raised. "No, I don't think you have."  
  
Kepler grins. "Well, it all started one day, when I received an unusual phone call..."  
  
Kepler continues, taking a relatively mundane mission and exaggerating the tiniest of details, adding in dramatic twists and painting himself a hero, as he is want to do.  
  
Jacobi doesn't seem to be listening, but it isn't until they stopped that he realised they'd long since left any place he recognised.  
  
"Sir," he said, as Kepler got out of the car, a rising inflection betraying his lack of confidence. "Where are we?"  
  
Kepler regards him for a few seconds. "Get the cake, Jacobi."  
  
Jacobi smirks. "So it is a cake?"  
  
"Just get the damn thing!"  
  
Jacobi laughs, cradling his prize as he follows Kepler into the apartment building they'd pull up to. Jacobi glanced around the foyer, to distracted by the glitz of the place to see Kepler's keycard flash.  
  
"What is this place?" Jacobi murmurs, his usual brashness tempered by uncertainty.  
  
Kepler leads him to an elevator, smirking at his confusion. "It's an apartment building, Jacobi."  
  
Kepler ignores the way he rolls his eyes and the bite the forms around, "I gathered that, sir."  
  
There's a stretch of silence as the elevator hauls its way upward, Jacobi using this time to pick at the frayed edges of his sleeves. The elevator doors pinged open and Kepler marches forward.  
  
"Sir, I'm not really comfortable with just breaking into someone's—you said we weren't on a mission, right?"  
  
Kepler rolls his eyes. "Jacobi, we're not breaking into someone's apartment."  
  
He stops at the door numbered 29. He produces keys from his pocket, and something finally clicks in Jacobi's head.  
  
"This is your apartment."  
  
Kepler holds the door open for Jacobi. "Congratulations, Mister Jacobi. Your powers of observation never fail to amaze."  
  
Jacobi ducks into the room, smiling despite the sarcasm directed at him. "This is really nice."  
  
Kepler hums at the compliment. He does a quick scan of the room for anything untoward, but all is as he left it. He frowns at the open notebook on the kitchen table, scooping it up and closing it as Jacobi sits, gingerly placing the cake on the table.  
  
"What do you even eat ice cream cake with? A cake fork or a spoon?" Kepler asks, heading to the kitchen island, setting the book down, tracing his hand over the bench top as he moves.  
  
Kepler glances over his shoulder in time to catch the face Jacobi pulls, his eyebrows scrunching as he pokes out his tongue. "A cake fork? Are you insane? It's ice cream."  
  
"But it has cake in it."  
  
"Just because it's shaped like a cake doesn't mean it's a cake. It's still mostly ice cream."  
  
Kepler frowns, pulling open his cutlery draw and picking two of both.  
  
Jacobi sits in silence, torn between eyeballing the cake and inspecting the apartment.  
  
Kepler is a man of taste and it's reflected in this space, all saturated colours and elegant shapes. The kitchen merges seamlessly into an open plan living space and dining room.  
  
It's not excessive, but it has the indulgences that show more about himself than he's entirely comfortable with Jacobi seeing; the stacks of leather bound notebooks filled with messy handwriting, a record player next to a cabinet of neatly organised vinyl records and a guitar nestled in the corner all leading to the conclusion that Kepler might be human.  
  
"Sir, why are we... here?"  
  
Kepler could have easily asked the same question of himself. "If you think I would run the risk of being caught eating such a ridiculous thing, you are dead wrong."  
  
Jacobi laughs. "It's not that bad."  
  
Kepler gave a doubtful hum in response before opening the thing. He pushed it toward Jacobi. "Enjoy your cake."  
  
Jacobi grins, attacking it with the spoon Kepler provided. As soon as he tastes it, he grins. "Have some!" he orders through a mouthful.  
  
He slides the cake in Kepler's direction. Kepler eyes it as if we're about to bite him.  
  
"It's a cake, sir, not a bomb. Stop treating it like one." Kepler doesn't like the authority of his words but takes comfort in the laugh in Jacobi's voice.  
  
Kepler reluctantly picks up the cake fork—ignoring the look Jacobi gives him for it—and takes a hesitant forkful.  
  
Goddamnit Jacobi.  
  
It's good. Of course it is. Jacobi, despite his ineptitude in the kitchen, has the remarkable ability to know good food when he sees it.  
  
Not, of course, that Kepler was about to admit it.  
  
"Awful," he says, monotone.  
  
Jacobi cackles. "Bullshit! I saw that look!"  
  
"I assure you you're imagining things, Mister Jacobi." Kepler realises too late he didn't wipe the affection from his tone or his face.  
  
Well. That's going to have to be another day's problem.  
  
Jacobi smirks, leaning over to take another spoonful. He relaxes into the chair (the chair that Kepler usually sits in, not that he's going to make an Issue of it) and sobers slightly.  
  
"Sir," he says, and then doesn't say anything for a long while afterwards.  
  
"Yes, Jacobi?" Kepler inquires, taking another bite of cake.  
  
He sighs, shrinking in the chair slightly. (He looks so small.) "I get the feeling that this isn't..." He makes a vague circular motion with his spoon. "It's not cost-effective to take all of your new employees out on celebratory stakeouts and then take them home to eat cake."  
  
Kepler pauses, taking his time to swallow. "No," he says slowly, "it's not." He sets his fork down, a slow, pressing gesture. "However, it's rare—" he takes his time with that word, stretching out the syllables—"to have such a good recruit, one who takes to the ropes so quickly and effectively."  
  
Jacobi swallows, looking to the corner and running a hand through his wild curls.  
  
"And," Kepler says, through the script in his head is telling him that it's Jacobi's cue. "I like you, Jacobi."  
  
He's relatively sure he hears Jacobi's breath hitch, even from there.  
  
"You're..." He pauses, letting his eyes appraise the man across from him and wonders, for the barest of seconds, how this could play out in a different setting, another context.  
  
"You're a good man."  
  
Jacobi runs his hand through his hair again, letting us pause at the back of his head. He inhales, his green eyes flicker to him and away rapidly.  
  
“Thank you, sir,” he says on the exhale. Kepler decides to pretend with Jacobi that his voice hadn’t cracked.  
  
"You're welcome, Jacobi."  
  
They sit in that silence, and Kepler finds himself unable to look away from him, caught in the tiniest details of him, the freckles on his neck, the small indent on his forehead (a scar from the time he fell out of the window of his family home, Kepler remembers), the way his hair falls in front of his eyes.  
  
He thinks maybe if it were another context, another setting, he might just  
  
Stick to the script.  
  
He'd always script to the script.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for much for putting up this super weird thing. There was absolutely no planning behind this, it was just something I started because why not? (It's not like I have metric tons of WIPs at the moment.) As always, hit me up @imperial-evolution on tumblr if you wanna hang. See y'all!


End file.
